Only Words
by EluredandElurin
Summary: Teitho entry for First which was somewhat bad... Faramir needs time to cope with everything, and maybe someone to talk to.
**I'm sorry if this seems similar to something written before, but I promise I came up with it myself. This was my Teitho entry for First and I hope you enjoy it.**

The dart seemed to come from nowhere, imperceptible as it sped through the air. When it struck, Faramir could almost feel the despair spreading through his mind, a strangely effective weapon of war.

He stumbled to his knees but cared not, trying to force his fear into some semblance of order. As if from somewhere far removed, he felt someone lift his unresisting body. Then the world was gone and all else with it.

-/-

What was left? It was only shattered seconds, words, and like glass, each cut him deeply.

"Do you wish then, that our places has been exchanged?" He asked into the tangled, dark confines of his mind, heart sinking with remembrance.

It was an old, twisted version of his once strong father that came now. "Yes, I wish that indeed. For Boromir my first was loyal." He sneered, hands growing into claws, teeth to fangs. "Yet you, the second, you are pupil to an old wizard and his counsels." He cackled and flew away, a dark and misshapen figure.

"Wait, father!" The words slipped out, the desperation of childhood clawing free. "Do you think better of me now? Now that I have returned, that I have fought harder than you will ever care to know? Perhaps I will give my life to this cause that you have chosen for me."

His father turned a ghastly head around. "'That depends on the manner of your return,' I said. You have fought hard, so what? Did you succeed? Or did you return like a mongrel, whining for forgiveness you do not deserve?"

Though grief came on, it was only like an old wound, and Faramir heard a voice in the distance that called for him. It was a familiar voice, though far from his memory. As much as he wished to find the sound, find whoever was calling to comfort them and be comforted, he could not. For dark trees sprang up, gnarled and old, sucking the light away greedily and sending noise at odd angles. Still he went, running through thick brush until he was exhausted and still in the accursed wilderness. Alone.

A strange scent reached the Prince's nose, strange because it was wonderful, because it was in this dark place. It smelled of beauty in the days of the Two Trees, perhaps, or of laughter left behind. It reminded him of his mother.

Seemingly summoned by the thought, she was there. Her hair was dark and strung with jewels, her mantle made of the cosmos. "Oh my son," she said, and her words swept away the darkness. It was as if it had never been there. "Your king calls you now, dear, and it is not your time. Live now, yet perhaps we shall meet again."

He obeyed, and it was simple as waking up. Leaning over him was Aragorn, holding a steaming bowl of herbs. "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"

-/-

Faramir smiled as he watched Éowyn make her way through the room of merry people, though he was unable to completely stop shivering. Aragorn was truly clueless if he believed a wedding should be held in Minas Tirith. Couldn't he see the shadows that were mixed with the mortar, the grief that had seeped into the very cobblestones?

As the newlywed man watched his wife, her delicate beauty, bright laughter and keen eyes, he couldn't help but feel inadequate. What if he failed her, like he had failed the rest of his family?

Faramir walked outside, his heart thudding with the thought. As he had expected, the door clicked open behind him, the light sending stretched black figures out into the night.

"My lord, are you well?" Éowyn asked.

"Quite well, thank you," Faramir replied absently. "I just needed- to breathe the clear air. I think I must walk elsewhere, for a short time only." How could he explain that all the merriment, the overbright colors and chaos seemed pointless? He used to attend nobles' weddings all the time and hated the stiff formalities. Now, in the opposite setting, his own wedding, he felt like he was drowning.

Éowyn smiled, grey eyes sending a light through the mist, yet making it darker still. "Whatever you wish. Do not stay away too long, though, or people will talk."

Faramir found his feet treading a familiar path, but one that he hated. It lead to the White Tower, to the throne room. To the Steward's chair.

There was naught left the except the two seats. And the Anor-stone. The very name had a venomous appeal. It was the object that had led Denethor to try to burn his own son alive. Only his second son, but his heir at the time. Surely it was not too potent, in this time of peace. If Faramir could conquer it, perhaps he could prove he was good enough. He scaled the stairs, so occupied in his thoughts that he didn't see the dark shape brooding in the corner.

On an obsidian table lay a sphere of darkest black. It didn't look inherently evil, but it had been used for dreadful things. It stared at him, daring him to take it into his hands. To look into its depths. Faramir gritted his teeth and complied.

He wondered at its warmth. But it was not so strange when the image of a pair of burning hands appeared in the seeing stone. They were still even as flesh blackened. How long had it taken to forget the funeral pyre of a live man the first time? He would never forget again.

Trying to see something else, anything else, he lost track of time until the orb slipped from exhausted fingers and crashed to the ground. Faramir blinked, trying to clear his vision, and then collapsed wearily to the ground against the wall. He watched the stubborn palantír roll to a stop, cursing it dully in his head.

A light set of footsteps sounded on the stairs and Faramir groaned.

The strangely perfect features of an elf peered around the doorframe. It was that elf prince- Legolas was his name.

"Greetings," the elf said solemnly. "Is something wrong?" Then he smiled widely, an infectious gesture, though not a mockery.

"This palantír is evil. I wished to punish it for its transgressions," Faramir jested weakly.

Legolas looked into the Steward's eyes and saw something of past hurts there. "You can tell me. Thousands of years, though not a single secret told."

"I'm fine," Faramir protested, "just tired."

"Is that all?" Bright eyes watched him, seeming to see what he had felt since childhood. What he had hidden since then.

Faramir closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm not enough." He stopped, unsure for once how to articulate his thoughts. "My mother died after my birth. Because of it. My brother died doing a task that I should have been given, the person closest to me in all the world. And then my father killed himself out of despair at my illness. He didn't even care about me, and he died because of me anyways. I don't understand-". Faramir broke off, watching the elf before him for any change in demeanor.

"Keep going," Legolas prompted. "In my experience, it hurts less if you can say everything at once."

"I don't understand why Lord Denethor would have died, if not for me. But it certainly couldn't have been for me because he didn't love me. He told me that his love depended on my success, not on the fact that I was his son too. I came to see what was so awful in the palantír, to be able to say I am stronger than my father, but all I saw were hands. Burning."

"It would take a great force of will to look away from the horror, to force the stone to forget for a time. As for your father, words are harsh things to remember, but they can only be said once. They are never taken back by proud men. Yet a small friend of mine told me that ere the end, Denethor saw your worth. If I recall correctly, he said this: 'I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins.'" Faramir shrugged, opening his mouth to argue. Legolas began speaking again, cutting him off. "Besides, those still living love you very much, I think, and men will go to ruin at your command. Is that not enough? Common people do not tend to be biased. They all see the worth that you refuse to find."

"Yet maybe they- what hour is it?" Faramir looked alarmed.

"I would estimate it to be ten minutes after your coming to the Tower. Ah, yes, I had forgotten that you have a wedding to be at right now. Today should be a day of jubilation for you. Doubt no more, son of Ilúvatar. Be glad for the days you are given."

The two descended the stairs, stepping out into a still night. "Where do you think you will be living after the war has been tidied and packed away?" Faramir inquired.

"I was thinking of Ithilien. Dark perhaps, yet darkness can be banished with a little light. Like home, but a fresh start with the people."

"Then I will be seeing you again," Faramir said with a small smile. "Until then, fare well." Then he hurried off, fearing the wrath of an angry woman.

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